Trufustering
by xCrimsonxBlackxBloodx
Summary: In fear for himself and his family, Draco Malfoy agrees to aid Voldemort in his evil schemes. Unfortunately for him, the Weasley twins are a lot better at original tortures than the Dark Lord will ever be. Slight, unwilling H/Dr; post-GoF.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me

**Disclaimer:**** Harry Potter does not belong to me. I am not JK Rowling. I am not an owner of her various publishers. I am not the owner of Warner Brothers. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Note:**** This story is the result of a dare with my wonderful friend/Biology lab partner, who shall henceforth be known as "Gnat-a-Leaf", so blame this on her and what happens when my brain takes control during sleepless nights at one o'clock in the morning. **

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Trufustering

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His hands trembled and his heart beat wildly in his chest. His breath came out in gasps and his eyes were wide; sharp and attentive for anyone who might discover him. If anyone could see him right now, they would know right away that he wished that his mission had been given to someone else – _anyone _else. There was no one else that it could be given to, though, at least not without some form of retribution. He knew this very well, just as he knew how important this mission truly was for the one he served. For the sake of everyone he cared about, he had to do this _right_.

And so, hands shaking, heart pounding, sharp breaths and wide eyes, Draco Malfoy watched as a few first-year Gryffindors wandered up a staircase and out of sight. In his five years at Hogwarts, the newly made prefect had never gone up those stairs – he had never found the need to. But now his father's orders, which in turn had come from none other than the Dark Lord himself, dictated that he go up those stairs and sneak into where he now knew the Gryffindor common room to be hidden.

His orders had been precise, but not overly informative. He only knew that Voldemort was having difficulties accessing Potter's mind as he usually did, and had been having these difficulties since Christmas. The Dark Lord wanted to know why this was so, and Draco wondered if it was the curiosity or worry in the wizard's mind that had given him his orders. He, though, dare not bring these questions to his father's ears.

From his vantage point behind a suit of armour, he checked his watch and found that curfew would soon be in affect; if he did not get into the Gryffindor common room tonight, he would have to tell his father about this one night of failure. Failure that, in his father's eyes, was not something to be accepted lightly, and Draco would be sure to suffer consequences if this happened.

With these thoughts to harden his resolve, he tapped himself on the head with his wand, muttering a Disillusionment Charm. He had long since decided that this would be the only way to get into the Gryffindor common room. After all, even if he managed to get a hold of a Gryffinor uniform, he highly doubted that he would be able to reach his destination, let alone stay there – too many Gryffindors knew who he was and would have no problems getting the Head of their House to kick him out and give him detention.

He heard giggling down the hall and applied a few more layers to his concealment, making himself nearly invisible. As two girls – third years by the looks of them – wandered past his niche, he knew that it was time to act.

Now or never.

Sticking to the shadows, he ghosted along in the girls' wake, not even bothering to be mildly disgusted about their conversation about which male on the Gryffindor Quidditch team had the best ass. The conversation was paused briefly as the taller of the two told a password to a portrait of an amazingly obese woman in a truly horrible, satin pink dress. With a smile and a few words, the portrait swung open and the girls climbed inside, Draco following silently just as the portrait closed.

The Gryffindor common room was a circular one, its walls covered with banners of red silk. Rugs adorned the polished wooden floors and hid under plush red couches and arm chairs, and there were highly polished desks for its inhabitants to work at. The room was tall, reaching up to an extremely angled roof, and a fire roared merrily within a huge stone fireplace. Unfortunately for Draco, it was also filled to capacity with students.

Even as he stood there, trying to figure out how he would sneak into the fifth year dormitories (which he figured would be up the stone staircase on the other side of the room), the portrait opened again to admit even more Gryffindors. He threw himself against the wall to allow them to pass, hoping that they would not notice the way the air rippled slightly as he moved. Fortunately for him, they were too busy conversing and passed by, completely oblivious to his presence. So, from his place of not quite safety against a wall in the common room, he began to contemplate exactly _how _he was going to accomplish his goal.

As busy as he was contemplating this, he did not notice the brown haired Gryffindor perilously close to him until the young student tried to back out of someone's way and instead bumped into him.

"Oh!" The Gryffindor spun around, obviously preparing an apology as he did so. The apology never escaped his lips, though, as brown eyes met nothing more than silk-draped red walls. Confusion and curiosity made lines across his face as he cautiously reached forward and Draco, completely cornered, could do nothing but stand there and watch in horror as his doom neared, finally poking his upper abdomen.

"What the…?" A think, stubby finger jabbed into his midsection again, and the exclamation was loud enough to catch the attention of a few of the red- and gold-clad students around them. Now they, too, were watching curiously as their Housemates finger seemed to stop in midair and would not go any farther.

"What's going on? Is someone else trying to steal our spotlight?" Face paling (though one could not see this take place), Draco turned slightly to see the owner of the voice he recognized all too well. From his place beside his brother, near a pack of first-years by the fireplace, one of the Weasley twins tried to see what everyone was staring at.

"It's probably just Harry, showing off again," the other twin said, fluttering his arms over-dramatically.

"Ah yes, Fred, that must be it." Even as he said this in the same melodramatic voice, George made his way to the epicentre of the gathering crowd. "Trying to prove once again that he's the hero we all know and love. Hiding under that wonderful Invisibility Cloak of his…"

Before the gathering crowd of curious students, George quickly whipped out his wand, and poked Draco in the chest with it, much like his young house-mate had done with his finger moments before. A frown spread across the red-head's face and, without warning, he muttered "_finite incantatem_" under his breath.

Draco knew that the Weasley twin's spell had been performed correctly as looks of surprise and outrage quickly replaced the grins on the faces of the various Gryffindors watching the spectacle. A few pulled out their wands as he looked around sheepishly. Fred pushed his way through the congregation to join his brother's side.

"Er... Good evening?" He mumbled, cowering slightly before the twins, not wanting to know what was going on in their heads. Surreptitiously, he tried to slide along the wall to the Common Room's entrance and make an escape, but luck did not seem to be on his side tonight. There was barely room to breathe amongst all of the metaphorical lions, and sneaking away from them was completely out of the question.

"That's it! I'm getting Professor McGonagall!" Someone at the back of the room announced. There was some movement as the unknown student made his way to the portrait hole, but then both Weasley twins laughed as one and threw an arm over Draco's shoulders.

"Don't do that; not after all the trouble our dear mate Draco went through to get in here," George said in an ominously good-natured way. He reached over with the hand that was not on the Slytherin's shoulder and ruffled the blond's hair (something that he did not appreciate in the least, but was not stupid enough to protest against).

Fred continued, almost reading his brother's mind. "We should play a game or two, before he has to go."

"You're completely right, Fred." As one, both Weasley's began to lead him forward. Fred pulled a wooden chair from one of the tables that lined the room, and George roughly sat him down on it. "We should play a variation of Truth or Dare, but we get to do all the daring –"

"– And you, Malfoy, get to do all the dares."

Both glared at him, making him wonder exactly _why _he had snuck into the Gryffindor Common Room in the first place – surely even Voldemort himself could not be as inventive as the Weasley twins when it came to torture. "Got it?"

Swallowing audibly, he nodded.

At first, the dares were simple: imitate a chicken; sing Muggle childrens' songs – one about a star, and another about blind mice – at the top of his voice while standing on a work desk; dance the Hokey Pokey. They had him turn his robes inside-out and charm them neon pink and, after also charming his hair a shade of green to match the pink, made him march around the room singing the real version (according to them) of 'Weasley is our King'. When Hermione entered the Common Room with a huge book tucked under her arm, he was forced to profess his undying love to her; though she seemed unhappy that her fellow Housemates did not just turn him it to the Head of Gryffindor House, the twins somehow managed to convince her not to say anything to the woman.

The last time he saw her, she was slipping up the stairs that obviously lead towards the dormitories, which she had done while he serenaded a Muggleborn sixth year that he had gone out of his way to poke fun at for years.

Slowly and gradually, as the red- and gold-clad students became more and more drunk on their own excitement and power over him, the so-called "suggestions" became more vulgar – and more embarrassing. An innocent looking fourth year, with shy eyes and a quiet voice, was the one who insisted that he pretend as if he were having an orgasm; a loud and obnoxious seventh year as the one to claim that he should give another Muggleborn a strip-tease. Whenever he tried to refuse, they threatened and tormented him until he obeyed whatever their evil, devilish minds could conjure.

He did not know where the Firewhiskey came from, but, next he knew, it was not the excitement and power over him that was making the older students act so obnoxiously. Soon enough, the younger students were sent to their dorms by their elders – something that Draco found ominous and relief for – being promised that they would not want to know what was going to happen to the Slytherin who had invaded their Common Room.

Firewhiskey was poured on his head in copious amounts, soaking him and making him reek like an alcoholic as he stood up on the tables and sang a truly horrifying Muggle song titled "I Touch Myself", his voice cracking because of the abuse it had already been through. To his utter mortification, three thoroughly inebriated seventh years teamed up on him half way through the song and took his shirt from him, transfiguring it into some miserable imitation of a bright orange, polka dotted hat. His face now pinker than his new robes, he was forced to finish the song.

It was eleven o'clock when the last of the Griffindors bothered showing up in their Common Room, which would have surprised Draco if he had not been both completely and entirely humiliated by the situation (how was he ever going to live with this?), and if he had not noticed who the last people to enter the tower was. But, of course, it was Potter and Weasley.

The looks of surprise on their faces would have been priceless had they not been at his expense, and they simply stared at him for a moment. Then, Weasley burst out laughing madly, unable to hold himself up, falling on the ground and continuing his raucous laughter until Potter, too, began to snigger madly.

It did not take Weasley long to notice that alcohol was present in the room, and, once he had, he started shouting out "suggestions" that amused his fellow Gryffindors greatly and made Draco question his sexuality. Somehow, his words turned into some extremely twisted order to speak like a valley girl House Elf while performing some incredibly bad ballet.

He glanced at the clock on the fireplace's mantle, which told him that he had been tortured for some three hours now. Surely, he thought as he pirouetted and nearly tripped on the area rug that covered the polished wood floors, they _must_ being running out of ideas...

"Wait!" Seamus Finnigan finally called out, and Draco felt something quiver in his stomach. Instructions from a drunken Irishman could never be good.

And, indeed, he was correct.

He watched apprehensively as Finnigan pushed his way through the crowd, a mostly empty glass one hand, which was also draped across Potter's shoulders. It was at that point that Draco could not be more grateful to see Potter; perhaps, as one of the few sober people still here, he would convince his not so sober Housemates to finally let Draco leave.

It was that night that he witnessed how useless a celebrity status was when facing a hoard of drunken teenagers.

"You…" Finnigan said, pointing a finger at the trembling Slytherin – which, Draco insisted to himself, was because he was cold. He was not wearing a shirt, after all. "You have to now… Kiss 'Arry! Kiss 'im like you mean it!"

Both Gryffindor and Slytherin involved paled considerably.

"What!" Potter yelped, green eyes wide behind his glasses, pushing the arm off from around his shoulders. Finnigan nearly fell, but he paid it no mind. "No bloody way!"

"That's DISGUSTING!" Draco shrieked, voice several octaves higher than it ought to have been. Luckily, no one noticed this fact; they were too busy laughing about the very thought of the idea.

"Oh, don't pretend you don't want it!" A blonde seventh year called out, her face flushed and grin truly terrifying. "Everyone knows that you two squabble like an old married couple."

Another roar of laughter broke through the circular space. Draco could do nothing more than watch in terror as a dark-skinned sixth year and a pale, skinny seventh year grabbed Potter by the arms and quite literally dragged him forward, completely oblivious to his protestations; they were too busy laughing. The cheers and catcalls sounded throughout the room, and the drunken red- and gold-clad teenagers doused both of them in alcohol and deafened them with their calls.

Both Gryffindor and Slytherin victims were unmistakably forced together, their objections and threats of painful deaths intelligible through the din in the tower-room. A chant grew up out of the cacophony of voices, excited and crazed and slurred by spirits. "Do it! Do it! Do it…!"

There was no way that either one of them was going to get out of this. Unfortunately, they both realized this.

Ignoring the exuberant callings of the hoard around them, Draco neared his horrified, wide-eyed nemesis, bending close to his ear to mutter into it without having to shout over the all the noise. "Just tell me something, Potter. Do you have your Invisibility Cloak with you?"

A pause, then Potter nodded.

The blond Slytherin took a deep breath. There was only one way to get out of this mess, and the thought was not one that either one of them would even want to think of in the future…

He could not believe that he had even thought of it, let alone actually go through with his plan. It only proved how desperate he truly was to get away from this Hell…

"Neither one of us is going to like this, Potter, but there's only one way to get out of this. Where's the Cloak?"

"What?"

Their crazed chanting was getting louder, more insistent. If they didn't do something soon, than he had no doubt that a riot would ensue, at the very least. At the worst… He shuddered.

"There's no time for that! Tell me where the damned thing is!"

"… In the biggest pouch of my book bag, behind my books."

"Good. Follow my lead. When all Hell breaks loose, ditch the bag; we'll have to move quickly."

He was so close to Potter that he could feel the shorter teen tense up. "Malfoy, what the fu-"

The loud, obnoxious, drunken calls and cries and chants all melted into a mad deafening scream as his last words were cut off. Some of the inebriated teens whooped out their laughter, catcalling and hooting as though it were a football game and they a crowd of fans. The younger students and any others in the dormitories would doubtlessly not present themselves in the Common Room out of sheer terror of being mobbed by their mad Housemates.

It would not be until the next morning that they would finally discover that Draco Malfoy had actually _kissed_ Harry Potter. On the lips. Hard. And then… Held him there, still kissing him… Still… And then… They would soon find out that Harry, too, had reacted to the intimate motion, gripping on to the blond Slytherin…

Slowly, the noise in the overcrowded Common Room quieted when everyone slowly lowered their glasses of Firewhiskey enough to realize that the Gryffindor and Slytherin in question were still quite passionately attached, the blond seeming to dominate over his shorter companion, pushing him forward with the force of his embrace…

Suddenly, only a few metres away from the circular entrance, the two disappeared into thin air. It opened on it's own without warning and…

"Well, then," George said jovially, then grin on his face showing him as completely unperturbed by what had just happened. "All good things must come to an end."

"What do you all say that we wrap this party up?" Fred continued. He, like his twin, grinned in a way that suggested that he had not a care in the world.

Light conversation once more began to filter about Gryffindor Tower as it's occupants slowly made their ways to their respective dormitories.

XXX

The old grandfather clock, tucked away in an inconspicuous corner of Gryffindor Tower chimed five times; it was five in the morning, and still, two people were awake, though barely. They had tucked themselves away in the comfortable, overstuffed armchairs that were grouped before the stone fireplace, the fire within low and choking out only the occasional flame. Other than that, only the glowing embers lit the room.

Hermione Granger held a book in her hands, though it was too dim and she was turning the pages too quickly to have actually been reading the tomb. She eyes kept darting upwards to either the now-silent clock, or else the room's only other occupant, narrowing in annoyance each time she focussed on him. Ron Weasley, on the other hand, looked nervous and rather hung-over. It was obvious that he would have rather been in bed, and that only the brunette sitting across from him was keeping this from happening.

After all, to infuriate the young witch any more than she already was would be a death sentence.

Finally, at quarter after five in the morning, the portrait that guarded their Common Room swung open, and the missing member of the Gryffindor Trio staggered into the room.

Green eyes bright, red-rimmed and rather unfocussed, it took Harry a certain amount of time to see that his two friends were still up and waiting for him. Strangely enough, he did not seem mad at Ron for being one of hundreds who had all but bodily forced him to kiss his nemesis some few hours before.

Perhaps, though, this was because he did not seem to be able to form such complex thoughts at the time.

Swaying slightly, he giggled at the two of them – they looked funny, all pale and tired-looking. Then, stumbling slightly as he moved to sit in the empty couch between them, he finally spoke, his expression telling them of the importance of his words. "You know, guys, I've found out something very, very important."

The two prefects just blinked, surprised that, after the whole event had passed, Harry had gotten drunk.

"I've decided that I think Firewhiskey tastes way better than Draco Malfoy." He told them, then proceeded to pass out.

THE END

XXX

There you have it – a Harry/Draco to make fun of Harry/Draco 's.

Now I can go and find out what's wrong with my brain.

Cheers!

xCxBxBx

Note: The word "trufustering" actually has no relation to the story at all and, in fact, isn't even a real word. It's just something that got made up at work one day; by definition (mine), it means "a confusion of events".


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